


GritJam

by lantadyme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gill Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantadyme/pseuds/lantadyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels good to let loose for a while. To hit <i>him</i> for a while, because nothing else makes you feel superior like watching him bleed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GritJam

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill I finally feel brave enough to post, even though it's entirely devoid of sex.

You punch him in the face, pain slicing through your knuckles and wrist and halfway up your arm from the force of it, but you don't care. It feels good to let loose for a while. To hit _him_ for a while, because nothing else makes you feel superior like watching him bleed. You pull back and swing again, knuckles split and mixing mustard yellow into the visceral violet all over your hand, and Eridan snarls and takes it in the eye. Something crunches and while you're not sure if it was your hand or his face, you still love that sound.

He strikes back at you. He drags his nails down your arm and tears straight through your pale, soft skin, the kind of skin that hasn't seen much more abuse than bee stings and the cheap florescent lighting of your respiteblock. It's tissue paper to him. He grins around the black-and-purple mess of his eyes, all of it swollen like old meat twisted around his broken cheekbone. You hate that smile. He laughs, grinning wide with one missing tooth and blood dripping down his chin. You bit that tooth out of your arm and spat it away earlier, relishing the yelp he'd lost as you smashed his head into the wall, not caring as his teeth sunk deeper into your flesh if at least you could hurt him equally.

Now though, he should be crying. With all the cuts and bruises you've carved into each other tonight, one of you should be. That's how it always ends anyway. Instead all he does is grin, his teeth shining white and pale bloody purple in the darkness, that cruel genocidal laugh coughing out of him and all you want to do is wrap your hands around his ugly throat and choke it dead.

No way you're losing this round. Everything about him makes your blood boil.

He's fast though, and years in front of a computer have never really exercised your stamina. You lunge and his hand is there, rock solid in the darkness as he grabs your wrist and _twists_. Pain blossoms up the nerves of your arm, biting like lightning up to your shoulder, and you can't help the squeak it wrings out of you. It's weak. It echoes in your ears and you go down hard, Eridan on top of you as he presses your face into the floor and kneels on your spine. He's five inches taller than you and masses nearly twice as much, and he's still grinning as you suck for air like a beached flounder.

"Get off," you wheeze.

He laughs.

He spits blood at the floor, purple with that yellowish tinge from every time he's bitten you. The spittle lands so close to your face that you can see the colors even in the dim light, and he has your arms pinned but you try to curl your hands into fists anyway, desperate to pummel him. You buck up to get him off and away from you. He shifts on top of you though, his knee digging in harder before it slips down next to you and he sits heavy on your ass. His chest is hot against your back as he leans down so close you can see the gnash of his teeth over your shoulder, can smell the stink of salt water and blood and the tang of gaudy jewelry. You can barely help but flinch as he drags his tongue slowly up the line of yellow blood trailing from the ragged gash his teeth left in your scalp.

"You taste scared, Sol," he says through that cruel smile, and you hate that you can't smack it off his face like this. You're pinned. You coil your arms against the hard cold floor and you want him off. You want him bleeding and crying underneath you, hurting and sick.

But—

The headache pounds like artillery on the inside of your head; a loud, cacophonous explosion of yellow agony coursing through the vessels in your brain, the heat of Eridan's body not helping, and you've been nauseous with it since he landed the first punch with that poisoned, spiked ring. Some kind of venom he'd commissioned specifically to send your freak mutant brain backflipping out of control. You'd ripped the ring off and hurled it away with a snarl, but he'd still laughed as the pain poured into your head and threw every inch of your coordination out the window. Your hands ache and your knuckles bleed and you've been taking the damage to try to distract you from the migraine, but your powers still sputter with that much toxic noise in your head.

You can take it. He's made you suffer worse than blood and sweat and rage, but you can taste the dirt in your mouth from the way he's crushing your face into the gritty floor, feel the blood under your nails and slick against the pads of your fingers, and you twitch and growl. You'll rip him open three ways when he lets go. It's a promise.

"Get off," you snap again, face bleeding and Eridan's too close. The laugh chokes to nothing in his throat at that order, and his eyes narrow. They're swollen and bloody, but you see the rage fluttering there behind his gaze. You've seen it before, and it makes you want to slice him open as much as it fills you with an icy black calm.

Hate is the cheap, tattered gauze that binds your relationship—you'll wrap your hands up later, hide the puckered yellow bite marks on your shoulders and your arms under layer and layer of white, healing gauze. You'll watch him do the same to his ravaged violet flesh. You'll trade snarls and violence and words, and then you'll go your separate ways to your separate lives, both of you beaten bloody and that anger exhausted. It's a lifeblood. And you know that if you didn't have this, this time in the dark to beat the shit out of him and feel all the aches he gives back to you, you don't know what you'd do with all the clawing feral violence that fills the psychic screams you hear day in and day out.

"You're so fuckin' weak like this," he growls through those eel's teeth, hand pressed hard into the base of your neck. It chokes off your air supply. The air in your lungs is stale in seconds, Eridan pressing down harder so your trachea squeezes shut against the grit of the bloody floor. He licks at the blood on your face again, his other hand gripping bruises into your bicep. "How do you like it, Sol? Not bein' able to breathe? It's dead fuckin' scary, ain't it?" he hisses, his teeth bared and dangerous an inch from your eye. You gape again and again, searching for the air that's right there, right fucking there in your mouth that you can taste, but can't get down.

He's kneeling on your hand and you wrench it free. Your split knuckles are smeared with grit from the floor like a barbecue dry rub, but it's free and you move fast to wrap your long fingers around his wrist. You dig your nails in. You claw at his arm with breath dead in your lungs, and even with panic pounding in your head you're still not strong enough to get him off. He laughs at that, loving that power he holds over you, and shakes your hand away. His own lifts off your neck long enough for air to rush cold and sweet down your throat to your starving brain.

You gasp, and for a second all you can concentrate on is just you and the air.

He flips you while you're in that haze, hands rough and hard on your bruised ribs, your tattered shoulders. He straddles you; so close, his bare chest inches from yours and his hands around your throat. But he's not choking you this time. He touches you, fingertips slipping slow and gentle along the sides of your neck, careful and intimate—caressing the lines where you'd have gills if you were a seadweller (and you shouldn't find it hot but it _is_ , and you hate him all the more for it). He kisses you with all his fangs like a gulper eel trying to swallow too big a meal.

Fuck.

You kiss him back. You bite his lip and growl deep in your throat. He deserves more, but whatever. Your throat is bruised and raw, grit pressed hard into the broken skin there, but he touches you so soft even as he sinks his teeth into your tongue, his lips hard and angry. Angry like you are. Angry like both of you are, and you want to taste more of his blood in your mouth, want to hurt him until he cries, and so you kiss him, both of your mouths clashing like a spilled box of kitchen knives.

You rake your nails hard down his chest, feeling him snarl against your face, his body coiling above you to pin you down if you try to change the pace. But you don't care. He's so close, everything smelling like a beach after an orca mauling, but for as strong and dangerous as he is, he still freezes, breath hitching in his throat and all of him shivering like a wriggler as you trace your fingertips across the delicate purple lines of his main gills.

"Fuck," he mutters against your mouth, his hips grinding once against yours, and that feels amazing. His hair is a mess, his face just as bad, and you grin, spitting out violet blood as you fondle his gills again. All the violence runs right out of him. He's so easy you hate it, and you love that you can break his asshole facade with nothing more than a touch of your hand.

"You're tho worthlethh," you sneer, fingers teasing his gills open. You slip your hand inside him, trace smooth and carefully up nerves and tender spots in his gills. He stares anywhere but your face, his own cheeks flushed purple and aroused as you run your fingertips along the delicate purple flesh, his body tensed with both the pleasure and wrongness of a hand being where it shouldn't.

Muscles spasm against your touch as they try to keep his gills shut, clamping closed around your hand to preserve the negative pressure of his lungs. And you laugh so cruel as you push that, pressing in harder so Eridan swallows, grimacing as you threaten to break through and leave him gasping for air as desperately as you'd been doing a moment before. Like you've done to him so many times. He hisses at you like a snake, his eyes snapping open and suddenly violent again, and the hands at the sides of your neck turn hard as he digs his nails into you even as you caress his insides.

It hurts. It hurts so much, and when he grinds your hips together again, choking back the whimper you can see in his throat, you know you wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
